


The Breaking

by anyssah



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-09
Updated: 2010-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyssah/pseuds/anyssah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Merlin thinks he's lost control of his magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything is owned by the BBC. I just get to play!
> 
> This story was written for the LJ Merlin kinkmeme. The poster of the prompt wrote, "I'd like to read about Merlin's reaction to Arthur arresting him in 3.03 and not attempting to break him out-I know the episode portrayed it lightly, but I'd like for someone to go AU and do something angsty with it!"
> 
> Many, many, many thanks go to my lovely beta TheVoice for editing this piece! All remaining errors are mine!

At first, Merlin thinks he's lost control of his magic.

It starts when he is standing over a sleeping Arthur, palm raised over the crown of his head. Merlin whispers, focuses on the donkey ears protruding from Arthur's hair, but his magic does not come through. It bucks in protest - shrinks away from his palm and claws its way up his arm, refusing to come out until Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and pleads with it, coaxes it. Moving slowly, like a dollop of honey unwilling to leave its jar, it eventually leaves through his fingertips and settles on the donkey ears. It's only a little magic, a flimsy wisp, but it's enough and the ears are gone. The murmur Arthur lets out is distinctly human.

A few hours later, he is walking with Gaius and he hears a braying sound come from Arthur. Gaius lifts his brow in amusement and chuckles, and Merlin laughs with him but he is uneasy. He'd done the spell correctly. He'd seen it work. But inside, his magic bubbles meanly, itching at the mouth of his nails and Merlin feels sick.

 

He's on his way to Arthur's chambers when he spies an empty corridor. There's a potted plant in the corner, the leaves greying and the stem drooping. With a quick glance around him, Merlin extends his hand a little. His magic reads his intent and shoots to the pot. The stem straightens, the dying leaves are shed and full, bright ones blossom in its stead.

The braying was a fluke, then. A remnant of the goblin's mischief.

But when he tries to send a tendril of warmth to the full tub in Arthur's chambers, he retches from the force of every ounce of magic in him recoiling, screeching at him to get out, out, out.

So he does. He gets as far away as he can.

 

It's sorcery. Someone has enchanted his magic so that it wants nothing to do with Arthur. Someone must know what he is. But who would be strong enough to turn his own magic against him, to have it disobey his will?

 

Gaius asks him if he's alright, peering at him while drinking a spoonful of soup. Merlin wants to tell him, he does, but the words refuse to come out. And anyway, telling Gaius means identifying him as a threat to the sorcerer who is responsible for this curse.

He shovels soup in his mouth and does not answer.

+

 

Merlin manages to avoid Arthur. He offers to replenish Gaius' stock of remedies but once he is in the woods, his magic sings in his ear, sweetly asking to be let out. He extends his hands and sees light move from his fingers into the trees, the soil and the sky and, for a moment, he is everywhere. He is everything: the tree root drinking rainwater, the ant searching for its hill, the cloud collecting moisture. He pulls his magic back in and notices that it doesn't feel evil or wrong or foreign. It feels like him, just like it always does and he can't understand what's wrong.

He can't.

When he returns, he tells Gaius it will take him a few days to collect everything and Gaius does not object.

 

He stops sleeping. He tells himself it's because he spends all night thumbing through the tomes in Gaius' quarters, searching for what could have caused this curse, how to stop it.

"You're lying, you're lying, you're lying," something says from deep inside of him and he slams the book shut to make it quiet.

 

Eventually Gaius tells him that Arthur is annoyed with his absence and Merlin is to be at Arthur's chambers at dawn. He knows Arthur would think this an irritation for Merlin, and it would have been if Merlin would be able to sleep, but he can't. So he goes towards the castle while the moon is still pushing down on the sun.

He's the first servant in the kitchen and Cook says, "Merlin! Have you been eating at all? You look so pale." She rushes to him and wipes her flour-coated hands on her apron before reaching to feel his face. "And those cheekbones are popping through your skin!" She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and then glances around to make sure no guard is looking. Pushing him onto a stool, she sets salted meat and a round of cheese in front of him and says, "this had better be gone by the time I finish baking these breads."

"I'm fine, Cook" he tells her, but at the sour look on her face, he bites into the round of cheese, grinning at her all the while.

She peers at him every so often as she kneads the flour and then, just as Merlin is finishing, the first work bell chimes and the other servants come trudging in, one by one, bleary eyed and heavy limbed. Merlin ducks his head, makes Arthur's plate and leaves.

Arthur is still asleep by the time Merlin gets to his chambers. There are tunics strewn all across the room, breeches hanging off chairs, half eaten plates of food piled on the table with some plates even sporting suspicious looking green fuzz. He sets Arthur's meal on the table, starts a fire, and then collects the dirty dishes to take downstairs.

When he returns, Arthur is seated at the table. His eyes are still puffy from sleep and his hair is raised at one side, as though he's been running his hand through it - whether in vanity or aggravation Merlin cannot tell. When he sees Merlin, he narrows his eyes.

"Ah! Merlin! I see you have deigned to attend to me today."

Merlin bows slightly, and says "Sire," before turning around. He grabs tunics off the floor, draping them across his arm.

"Merlin," Arthur almost sings.

Merlin does not look up, does not even hesitate in his movements.

"Mer-lin. Merlin! Have you gone deaf as well as dumb?" Arthur's voice is laced with incredulity and amusement.

There's an angry whoosh of magic in his stomach but Merlin wills it silent. In his most placid voice, he says, "no, Sire," without turning around.

"Would you-," Arthur sighs in exasperation and huffs, "turn around!"

So Merlin does, very slowly. He lowers his gaze and looks at Arthur's feet. He keeps his face smooth, the corners of his mouth turned neither up nor down. He drops his shoulders for extra measure - subservient, as a servant should be.

"Where have you been?" Arthur asks, peering at Merlin over his raised goblet.

"Sire," Merlin starts as he steals a glance into Arthur's eyes, noting the confusion at the continued use of his title, "I've been assisting Gaius."

"But for so many days? Without once coming to me?"

Merlin says nothing. His eyes remain downcast.

Arthur stands up, clanks his goblet against the table and in the coldest voice he can muster - the one Merlin recognizes he uses when responding to a particularly caustic remark from Uther - he says, "very well. When I come back I expect this to be clean, my boots polished, my tunics laundered and a proper bath drawn up."

Arthur walks out without a backwards glance and Merlin feels the muscles in his jaw set, feels his hands tremble, his magic recoil deep inside of him like a wounded animal. "Isn't this what you wanted?" he sneers to the force inside him, but it refuses to answer.

 

Sometimes, despite himself, he falls asleep on whichever book he was urgently thumbing through and each time his dream is the same:

The chains on his wrists are tighter than they should be. Blood seeps out and Merlin grits his teeth at the feel of a bone scraping against metal. A guard tells him that Uther thinks a broken wrist means that his magic will not be able to escape from his hands. It takes a long time for Merlin to stop laughing at Uther's ignorance.

He's not scared, he just has to wait for-

a footstep

a creak

the jangle of a key…

But he waits for nothing and, inside him, his magic wails; loud, sad and scared, before it shatters. This must be why none of the sorcerers escaped - the sadness and betrayal breaking the magic, killing them before Uther can.

There is a crowd of people in the courtyard but he does not notice a single face. His feet are heavy and the guards have to drag him from under his arms, his knees scraping against the ground. He wants to throw up but he can't and he won't cry or scream, he won't, he won't.

They remove his boots and tie him to the pyre. He hears his name come from the crowd but he can't bear to see who is calling for him. He turns his gaze instead to Uther; watches as he shakes his finger at Merlin, mouth twisting in ugly shapes. Morgana is beside him, the corners of her mouth turned up and Arthur-

Something hot licks at his feet and smoke fills his nose, his lungs, seeps into his eyes, making them water. But he keeps them focused on Arthur, watches the sad face and still form until Merlin is eaten up, slowly, licked flame by flame, from bottom to top.

He promises himself he won't scream but he always does by the end.

 

Gwen corners him in the laundry room. She pulls at his sleeve and then drags him into the corridor.

"Merlin," she whispers, "are you alright?" She stares at him with worried eyes, her face pinched in a way that is becoming all too common on her sweet features.

"I'm fine, Gwen." He smiles his goofiest smile at her, his most Merlin smile and says, "really."

"It's just that-" her eyes dart to her left and she lets out a breath. "Well you know ever since the thing with Will-but then you know after the dragon and you've been different and Arthur says-"

"Arthur says?"

Gwen places a hand on her hip and then says in a rush, "he says you're too quiet and you're doing all your work perfectly." Then she grabs her hands in his and, in a soft voice, says, "Merlin, come on. This is not like you. Even Leon has commented on it."

"I'm fine, Gwen." He peers into her eyes and then gives her a little grin, swinging her hands with his, "just acting how a proper manservant to the Crown Prince should."

Her brows come together. "But you know Arthur thinks of you as more, as a friend."

Merlin drops her hands, clears his throat and says, "thank you for your concern, Gwen. I'm fine." He squeezes her shoulders and goes to pick up fresh linens.

 

When he gets to the clearing, Kilgarah is already waiting for him. The silvery moonlight gives Kilgarah's scales the appearance that he's glowing and his yellow eyes burn stronger than any torch Merlin has ever seen. Merlin wonders if all dragons look like this at night, majestic and alight, as though torn from the stars to bring wonder and beauty to the earth. Did each of them burn out as they died? Did Uther revel in the world becoming darker, plainer, sadder?

Kilgarah acknowledges him with a tilt of his head and then rumbles, "what is troubling you tonight Young Warlock?"

"There is a curse on me and I don't-"

Merlin stops as Kilgarah extends his neck towards him, breathing in deeply.

"I smell no magic on you but your own."

"Right, I mean there's something-someone has done something to my magic. It's not listening to me, it's acting like it has its own will-"

"No sorcerer can cast such a spell. You and your magic are one."

"You're wrong," Merlin says, blood thrumming with anger, "you're lying-"

Kilgarah's raises his head and snaps his jaw, "I am not lying to you. Your magic acts only as you wish it to. It is you."

"But," Merlin's voice breaks. "How can this be? It's been-" he doesn't want to say it out loud because to voice it would be to make it real, to tell someone of how he is betraying Arthur, Camelot, Gaius, his destiny. "It's angry at Arthur, it doesn't want to do magic for him. Please Kilgarah, how do I fix it? Arthur is due for some sort of threat against his life soon." He whispers, "please."

There is pity on Kilgarah's face, maybe even empathy. "I cannot help you, Merlin-"

"You have to-"

"Only you can fix this. Your magic is not angry with the young Pendragon. You are angry with him and so your magic acts accordingly. You must address your feelings-"

"I am not angry," screams Merlin, nails digging at his palms, magic roaring through him.

"I grow weary of your unwillingness to heed my words. Your decisions endanger Uther Pendragon's son each day. Mordred and the Witch are still breathing and I have warned you of their role in his death. I warn you now, if you let this anger fester you will live to regret it."

Before Merlin can respond, Kilgarah launches on his hind legs, wings extending across the clearing. He flies away, up, up, up and leaves Merlin to scream his displeasure at the sky.

 

When he reaches Gaius' quarters, Gaius is nowhere to be found. But Arthur is seated on his bed, hair falling onto his forehead, fingers roving over a carved-

Something snaps inside Merlin. In his ears, so softly, so convincingly, his magic is telling him to remove his father's gift from Arthur's hands, to never again let Arthur touch something so precious to Merlin. But he thinks of Kilgarah's words and he forces everything down, down, until he hears only a buzzing.

Arthur starts and then looks at Merlin. He's dressed in an old tunic he sleeps in during the winter and the print of his ring is pink on his cheek. He must have forgotten to remove it before sleep.

"Gaius is attending my father," Arthur says evenly. "An old battle wound is acting up."

"I am sorry to hear of the King's pain, Sire. I shall go see if-"

But Arthur waves him off. "No, it's nothing." Arthur looks at the dragon in his hand and smiles, "your affection for animals, Merlin-if it were up to you, dragons would be roaming freely."

Merlin keeps himself stiff, his head lowered.

"I thought you would be asleep when I came to fetch Gaius. Where were you?" At Merlin's continued silence, he drops the dragon onto the bed, "Merlin! You're acting like a jilted woman. You can't stand to look at me. You only speak when necessary. I should throw you in the dungeon for acting like-"

Merlin looks up, takes in the flush on Arthur's cheeks, the way his shoulders are squared as though preparing to battle. "I apologize, Sire. If I have acted as a servant shouldn't-"

Arthur stands up and in three strides he is in front of Merlin - his breath coming out in hot, short spurts. Merlin thinks he hears Arthur's heart beating fast and loud, but maybe it is his own, he can't tell.

"What is causing you to act this way? You know I do not expect you to act like the other castle servants. I let you babble, I forgive your clumsiness, your tardiness, your insults-"

Merlin can no longer hold his tongue. "You should not have." He fights to keep his voice even, "You treated me as though I were more to you than another servant, than another subject of Camelot."

Arthur's face is twisted in exasperation. His hands fly up and he spins around. "Yes, I have and this is how you treat me-"

"No." Merlin's tone is cool. Arthur turns around and opens his mouth to protest but Merlin says, "No, you have not. If-If I meant something to you, you would not have left me to die." His cheeks flush and there is a keening sound coming from somewhere deep inside him, burning at his ears, his eyes and he thinks of his dream, of Arthur's still, indifferent body.

A softness comes over Arthur and he steps forward, arm outstretched, "Merlin, I-"

Merlin steps back. "You did not even object. And I waited for you in the cell, Arthur. I-"

"Gaius was the one who brought the charges forward, Merlin."

"I told you he was a Goblin."

"But you had no proof. And-and you know my father's thoughts on sorcery…"

"And if I were a sorcerer?"

Arthur looks stricken. "Merlin-"

"If I were, all the times we were alone, why did I not kill you? Why have I not killed Uther or destroyed Camelot? Why did I knowingly drink poison for you? Are these the actions of an evil sorcerer? You believe so blindly what your father tells you. You would have stood silent and watched me burn." His voice is breaking and his face is wet, and Arthur's eyes are bright, but Merlin doesn't care, he doesn't. Everything he has done, every life he has taken, every time he has put his own life aside, Will, his father, all for a man who would stand quietly as he burns.

The door creaks. "Sire?"

Merlin turns around and sees Gaius, dressed still in his nightclothes, standing in the doorway.

Arthur clears his throat. "Gaius. Is my father well?"

"Yes," Gaius drawls, "yes in fact he was fast asleep when I reached him."

Arthur's cheeks flush but his expression does not change. "Ah. He must have felt better."

Gaius looks at Merlin, one brow raised. "Indeed."

"Merlin-"

But Merlin wants to hear no more. "Good night, Sire," he says and walks to his room, shutting the door behind him. He waits until he hears Arthur's footsteps, the closing of the door, the sound of Gaius settling in bed, before he lets his magic come up for air again, ignoring the angry way it buzzes in his chest, the way it pulls at him to get up to fight, fight, fight.

He falls asleep just before dawn.

This time, when he dreams, it is Arthur who orders his death.


End file.
